


The Peacock & the Raven

by doodlegirll



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (well women but whatever), Alternate Universe - Royalty, Ambiguous Historical Placement, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel and Jimmy Novak are Twins (Supernatural), Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Graphic Descriptions of Executions, Multi, No Homophobia, No MCD, Prince Castiel, References to Canon, Sam and Dean are essentially Robin Hood, The Middle Ages Were Magic, Thief Dean Winchester, Thief Sam Winchester, but Jimmy’s dead, executions, happy ending I promise, masquerades, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:48:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24160825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodlegirll/pseuds/doodlegirll
Summary: As Dean escorted him onto the floor as the orchestra began a new set, Castiel felt the hair on his nape stand to attention, one part in anxiety and the other in excitement, at the way the party goers stopped to watch. Their prince had finally chosen a dancing partner. Who was this mysterious man in the peacock mask, that had enticed their raven feathered prince into a dance?OrDean’s attempts to check on Cas during a ball gets him captured and sentenced to death.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 82





	The Peacock & the Raven

**Author's Note:**

> This story was actually intended to be part of a larger, much more plot oriented story I had been playing with for a few years That eventually evolved into my modern royalty fic, “I’ll Follow You Down.” I had already written about 40% of most of this in bits and pieces, and for some reason, after I found my notes the other night, the rest just kind of fit itself together into what you are about to read. I had to change several things to fit the narrative I’d now found myself in, and there were several things I had to just leave to chance (for example, Jimmy is dead and I never say how he died; use your imagination) and I decided it was much easier to make this an established relationship fic than anything else and offer what backstory I could to fill in the blanks. 
> 
> Honestly I’m super proud of it, especially considering it was 100% written on my iPhone during my breaks and lunches at work over the course of two weeks. That said, my phone is an asshole and likes to autocorrect a lot, quite often to different tenses and to the occasional word that bears absolutely no resemblance to the word I was actually going for. I had a friend read through the first half of the fic but she never finished it, so I did what I could but honestly, I’m super sleep deprived so I probably missed quite a bit. 
> 
> I also took certain historical liberties. Sorry. (The “the Middle Ages were magic” tag is a reference to Ask a Mortician on YouTube, btw)
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!
> 
> ALSO: before anyone asks (because people inevitably do) I spell “god” (as in the name, not the noun) as G-d, because I’m Jewish.

Balls had always been, in Castiel’s opinion, torrid and insufferable affairs.

Masquerades even more so.

Castiel, despite having been raised in the lavishness of royalty and all the perks and pests that came with his status, had never truly found himself at ease in situations such as these. He especially disliked masques; it was hard enough parsing genuity from those in court when facing them day to day, let alone when they were given the opportunity to hide behind a mask for a few hours. Many among the lesser nobility thought that this was an ample opportunity to whisper in the ears of those at court, to gossip and plant seeds behind the literal mask of plausible deniability; no one can prove that the person who said such and such was the person behind the mask, after all. It could very well have been another patron who’d worn a similar mask, they’d excuse. 

Jimmy had found masquerades to be the prime opportunity for mischief when they’d been boys. The two of them would dress alike, with matching masks, and cause all manner of mayhem. They’d steal buttons from waistcoats, tie the exposed laces of corsets in impossible and complicated knots, flick peas and kernels of corn into the pompadour wigs worn by some of the nobility from the southern regions of Novak, where such wigs were the height of fashion. As difficult as it was to tell them apart on a normal day, during a masque, it was absolutely impossible. So impossible was it, that after years of complaints from attendees at not being able to tell, exactly, which of the young twin princes it had been that had caused the calamity, their father had finally decided that they would wear different masks, setting them apart. 

This, of course, did not stop them. All it took were a few very well timed ducks behind a column or underneath a tablecloth to quickly exchange their masks, which only caused further headaches for those trying to differentiate the two. 

Now, without the comforting and familiar presence of Jimmy at his side, masquerades held no place in Castiel’s heart. Even now, almost six years later, the shape that had grown from the absence of his twin brother was an ache so profound, it did not have a name. 

What Castiel hated was the feeling of loneliness that had come to accompany him, like a perverse shadow, whenever he attended masques. Yes, he was surrounded by others, but Castiel had found, throughout the course of this last half decade, how easy it is to be alone in a sea of people. 

It did not help that the only person who could possibly make him feel even a modicum of joy, could make him feel at ease, could not, under any circumstances, be there. 

Castiel downed the last of his champagne and watched the dancers on the dance floor, a cacophony of colorful gowns and garish brocade suits as they twirled and stomped about in a dance that Castiel did not think looked all that entertaining to participate in. He’d been approached several times by various people and asked to dance, but he’d declined each time. He’d hoped that no one took his rejections to heart; it was only that balls tended to make him melancholic and much more tense than usual. (Dean had once called him “prickly,” which had caused Castiel to smile.) Lady Bela, in her red gown and matching scarlet lace mask, had been particularly put out, as it seemed, and had asked why he was here at all, if he didn’t intend to divulge in the revelry. Castiel had politely reminded her that he was here because he was one of the princes, and it was hardly in good taste to skip one of the biggest balls of the summer. His sister was the queen, after all. Lady Bela, who was vexatious on the best of days, had now made it her sole purpose for the night to remind Castiel not only what he was missing, but also that she considered herself quite the catch in the courting pool. Lady Bela had been vying for his attention since he’d returned home, and he knew it was hardly because she was in any way interested in pursuing a personal relationship; everything with Bela was about power. 

Just as he was beginning to consider finding a suitable reason to excuse himself for the night, perhaps feigning a headache from too much to drink, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Resigning himself to declining yet another offer, Castiel steeled his expression into one of polite grace, and turned. 

“Forgive me, but I must decline any offers of dancing this evening.” He said without turning. 

“I was hoping you’d make an exception for me.” A familiar voice said.

His heart immediately leapt into his throat, and he spun around. 

Dean was unmistakable, even behind the facade of a mask. He wore a simple but flattering green doublet with matted brass buckles over brown breeches tucked into soft leather boots, though these were in a considerably better state of repair than the ones he usually wore. His mask was stunning: iridescent teal and green feathers splayed out on both sides, large enough to cover the entire sides of his face, with a large fan of vibrant peacock feathers on the crown of his forehead, a glass gem at the center. Castiel’s first thought was that Dean had chosen well; green matched his eyes, and he could not imagine any other bird in all the world that could best for Dean’s personality than a peacock, with it’s vivid feathers very much like the soul of the man Castiel had come to know and adore over the lasts eight months and cocky attitude. He grinned at Castiel, and if it were any other time but the present, Castiel would find himself melting into it, as he had so many times. 

“Dean,” he breathed. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean greeted. 

“What are you doing here?!” Castiel demanded softly. “Are you insane?! If you got caught, do you have any idea what the repercussions would be?!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean waved him off. “I know.”

“Then what the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

“I came to make sure you’re alright.” Dean confessed. “I remember you said a couple days ago how much you’ve hated balls since Jimmy died. I didn’t want you to be alone, is all.” 

If he weren’t being so infuriatingly _stupid,_ Castiel would have melted at Dean’s thoughtfulness and compassion. It was one of the things he loved most about him. 

“Dean,” Castiel took him by the arm and dragged him away from the crowd, into a secluded corner of the ballroom. “You _can’t_ be here. What if someone recognized you?!”

Dean tapped the mask. “‘S why I went all out with this thing. And before you ask, I bought it, I didn’t steal it.”

“Dean, you are the most wanted bandit in the kingdom with a sizable bounty on your head. Most of the people out on that floor are people you’ve stolen from, Dean. Any one of them would love to see you hanged.” 

“They’d have to catch me first,” Dean grinned. 

Irritation flared in Castiel’s gut, commingling with the worry that the man he loved, the most wanted thief in all the lands, was _here._ He was not safe here. 

But there was also a thrill of sorts. That Dean was _here_ , with him. He was here, in a sea of people who wanted nothing more than to see Dean dead, and they had no idea who he was. And he’d come here to make sure Castiel was alright, that he was not alone. The thought made Castiel’s heart soar, despite the trepidation that still tapped at his conscience. 

In the eight months he’d known Dean, he’d come to understand him in a way no one here did. Dean was, indeed, a wanted man, a thief who had been stealing from the kingdom’s elite for close to six years, along with his younger brother, Sam. But after having been entrusted with getting to know the brothers and their ragtag team of friends and allies, he’d very quickly seen that their thieving was _not_ for their own financial gain.

By stepping into Dean’s world, Castiel had been thrust into the reality of the world that laid outside the palace walls. Of course Castiel had known there was suffering in the world; in his travels after Jimmy’s death, he’d witnessed it firsthand. He’d seen poverty, hunger, and disease. But he’d never imagined that such suffering could exist in his own kingdom, where it was carefully hidden away by stone walls and mortar. Looking at the little village where Dean lived, on the outskirts of the capital near the forests, you’d never know it was a slum from the outside. Dean had opened a door he hadn’t realized had been shut to him, and Castiel knew he would never be the same.

Dean and Sam, as thieves, worked expressly alone. They had their family, who helped them, of course; Charlie, their adopted little sister who was an inventor; Eileen, Sam’s bright beau who, though deaf, was an expert hunter and could fell a deer with her bow from a hundred yards away, and had taught Castiel the intricacies of sign language; Bobby, their adopted father and Ellen, their adopted mother, who, along with their daughter Jo, made sure that everyone in their little village on the outskirts of the kingdom’s capital were fed, whether they could pay or not; Jody and Donna, who together ran both a mitigation agency of sorts for the village and a home for wayward girls; Kevin, a genius young man who helped them count and distribute the funds to those who needed it most. But the stealing itself, they did not allow anyone to assist them. The bounty was on their heads and their heads alone. If they went down, at least their family would not go down with them.

Dean and his brother did not steal for stealing’s sake. They had started doing it to survive after their father had died, when they were still very young. They’d eventually made their way to the capital, where the disparity between the rich aristocracy and the poor had finally driven them to the vigilante thievery that now reserved them a place in the gallows, should they ever be caught, their nooses generously paid for by the nobility they’d stolen from. 

And, through the countless nights spent sneaking out of the palace to meet in the forests at the edge of the village, of making up excuses to go into town, of meeting in pubs and alleys and stables, Castiel had fallen deeply in love with the kindhearted green eyed bandit. And at the same time, unwittingly, he had made his first steal; just as Dean had stolen his heart, he’d stolen Dean’s too. Two completely different worlds had collided, but neither of them cared too much. Castiel could still remember the first time Dean had told him he loved him, before pressing him against soft moss in a moon bathed glade in the forest to whisper it into his skin. 

“Dean,” Castiel said. “Please, you need to go. I’m fine, as you can see.” 

“What, not even going to give me one dance?” Dean countered. “Just one, and I promise I’ll leave.”

Castiel couldn’t help the smirk that crossed over his face. It was always so easy to banter with Dean. 

“Are you sure you even know _how_ to dance?” He teased.

Dean gasped dramatically, putting a hand over his heart. “You wound me, your highness.” He said. 

“If I do dance with you, I’ll have you know, you’ll be the winner of a long list of contenders vying for my attention.” Castiel informed him. 

Dean chuckled and bowed, offering Castiel his arm. “Well, then,” he said. “Let’s go make them jealous.”

Castiel took the proffered arm. “If you insist, Sir Winchester.” 

As Dean escorted him onto the floor as the orchestra began a new set, Castiel felt the hair on his nape stand to attention, one part in anxiety and the other in excitement, at the way the party goers stopped to watch. Their prince had finally chosen a dancing partner. Who was this mysterious man in the peacock mask, that had enticed their prince into a dance? Castiel saw Bela gaping out the corner of his eye. 

The two of them made their way to the dance floor and turned to face one another, aligning their palms flat. 

“By the way,” Dean whispered as they began to move in tandem, the other dancers along with them. “Your mask suits you. Brings out your eyes.”

Castiel’s mask was of a much less frivolous nature than Dean’s. Simple and clean cut, it was made of black satin and raven’s feathers, flared as though in flight, which would occasionally flash blue and purple in the right lighting. 

“Not nearly as much as yours.” Castiel whispered back. “A peacock was a wise choice.”

“Charlie picked it, actually,” Dean said. 

“She chose well.”

Together they moved about the other dancers, occasionally stopping to switch directions, their palms always touching. Castiel felt his heart pound in his ribcage, the familiar fluttering in his stomach reaching a crescendo as Dean smiled at him, green eyes glittering with mirth behind the mask as they danced. Dean really was a good dancer; he wondered where he’d learned. 

“This song will be over soon,” Castiel warned. 

“Perhaps I’ll ask you for another,” Dean replied.

“You promised,” Castiel reminded him, but it was not nearly as heartfelt as it had been before he’d agreed to a dance. Castiel wanted another,he wanted Dean to stay, even though he knew he couldn’t; there was no bottom to the chasm of want that coursed through him whenever he was near Dean. 

He wanted to say it aloud, for all to hear. He loved Dean Winchester, bandit of his own heart, as sappy and cliche as that sounded. He knew Dean would hate it, but he didn’t care. 

“I believe I owe you an apology,” Castiel said instead. “It seems you can dance, after all.” 

The song was winding down now, and Castiel felt Dean’s fingers thread into his where their palms pressed together once more. 

“If his highness wants me to accept his apology,” Dean said, teasingly, but Castiel saw the way his eyes flickered to his lips, as they were wont to do, “I will accept it on one condition.” 

“And that is?”

“Kiss me.” 

Castiel felt his heart do a backflip, his chest growing warm with affection. 

“I suppose, if it’s truly the only way,” he said, and slowly leaned forward to capture Dean’s lips with his, eyes slipping closed.

Kissing whilst wearing masks was a bit of a challenge, but Castiel soon found the correct angle, their respective feathers commingling. This was far from the first time he’d kissed Dean, and Dean had kissed him, but somehow this seemed different, and a thrill of excitement went through him as his bandit kissed back with fervor. It almost felt taboo, kissing in front of all these people, where no one knew who Dean was but him. It was invigorating.

Then, everything went to hell. 

Castiel gasped as Dean was yanked away from him, breaking the kiss. He watched, dumbstruck, as Dean was thrown to his knees by two guards, his arms twisted behind him. A pair of shackles were snapped in place onto his wrists, and the guards pressed down on his shoulders with grips tight enough to bruise to keep him in a kneeling position. A hand was twisted into his hair, and a blade was held to his throat to keep him from moving.

“What are you doing?!” Castiel demanded, and he was aware his voice was an octave higher than it usually was. His stomach had dropped, nausea beginning to boil in the back of his throat. “Stop it!” 

“What is the meaning of this?!” His older sister, Naomi, the queen, came forward. Beside her was their brother Gabriel, captain of the royal guard. 

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” a saccharine, poshly accented voice said from behind him and Castiel turned to find Lady Bela approaching them. “But I think it’s best you know the truth of your brother's mysterious dancing partner.” 

Castiel felt dread drawing tight in his gut. 

Bela approached them, and, without preamble, grabbed hold of the mask on Dean’s face and yanked it off, revealing his identity to the room. 

Gasps. Everyone here knew who Dean Winchester was.

“Dean Winchester!” Naomi breathed. For a moment she just stared at him, as though caught in a trance. “At last.” 

“I saw this man sneak into the ballroom a half hour ago and make a beeline for his highness, and thought it best to investigate.” Bela explained. “I would know the hands of the man that stole from me anywhere.”

“Your astute observation has done us all a great favor.” Naomi praised and Castiel felt a flare of anger at the way Bela smugly preened under the attention. “You will be rewarded for it.”

“Naomi–” Castiel started, but his sister heard none of it. 

“Did you know of his identity?” Naomi demanded of him, cutting him off. 

“I–” Castiel struggled to understand what was going on. His mind was whirling in a thousand directions. “He–”

“No.” Dean said from the floor, his voice hard and clear despite the knife at his jugular. “He didn’t know who I was. I tricked him. I told him I was a lord from the countryside.”

It all made perfect sense to Castiel what Dean was doing, and it made him sick to his stomach. 

Dean and Sam were the ones that stole, so that no one else had to go down with them, so that they were the sole bearers of the burden of their crimes. That’s exactly what Dean was doing here; he was giving Castiel a clear way out. 

Naomi looked at Dean, her blue eyes cold behind the white lace of her mask. 

“Why?” She asked.

“He was alone, so I singled him out. I knew who he was, and I knew that if I could dance with him,” Dean swallowed visibly, as if around the words. “If I could trick him into dancing with me, I could seduce him.”

“You snuck into my masquerade to seduce my youngest brother so that you could steal from us?” Naomi said, her voice as sharp as steel.

Dean did not look her in the eye, keeping his own lowered. “Yes.” 

This wasn’t right. Castiel felt the urge to tell Dean not to do this, to fall to his knees next to him, to put himself between Dean and his sister, to tell everyone here the truth.

But he knew that the truth did not matter. Not here. It did not matter how much Castiel loved Dean; it would not be enough to save him. 

“Your crimes have made a turn for the vile, then,” Naomi said. “It is bad enough that you have been a scourge upon our kingdom, stealing from hard working citizens, but now you do this. You have attempted to use my brother to your own gains, to sully his good name with your perverse games, and for that, you will pay.” 

She stood up straight and addressed the room of spectators. 

“The thief Dean Winchester will die at noon tomorrow. It is customary that thieves be hung by the neck until dead, but due to the nature of the crimes he has committed over the span of six years, and for trying to seduce a prince of Heaven, he will be put to death on the block.” She looked at Dean. “May G-d show you more mercy than I.” 

Castiel felt his heart stop, his breath completely stolen from him. He felt as though the world had suddenly tilted on its axis, as though a rug had been forced from beneath his feet. He felt the carefully manicured walls of his heart crumbling to ash, leaving him completely and utterly defenseless.

He remembered this feeling. 

It was the exact feeling he’d felt when he’d been told that his twin brother was dead. 

“Take him away.” Gabriel commanded, and the guards hauled Dean to his feet. He met Castiel’s eye for a single moment before the guards dragged him away. 

Castiel watched them drag the man he loved away, silent and still as the night. 

Naomi clapped her hands together, gathering everyone’s attention once more. 

“Well then!” She said. “I would say that this ball has turned into a cause for celebration! The thief Dean Winchester has been brought to justice!” 

The crowd cheered, but Castiel could not find a single ounce of even fraudulent joy within him to join in. 

“Carry on with the festivities!” Naomi announced. “For tomorrow, we rid the earth of Dean Winchester! And then, the search continues for his brother!”

More cheers. Castiel looked at his feet and saw Dean’s mask lying on the floor where Bela had dropped it. He stooped down to pick it up. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to find Gabriel looking at him strangely. 

“You alright, little brother?” He asked quietly. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Castiel opened his mouth, unsure of how he was going to reply. He couldn’t tell Gabriel the truth. He had never felt less alright in his entire life, save for the day Jimmy died.

“Of course he isn’t,” Naomi interjected, tone uncharacteristically gentle. “He has just nearly been the victim of a heinous crime.” She looked at Castiel. “You _do_ look pale, Castiel; perhaps you should retire for the evening. This all must have come as quite a shock to you. I could see that you were enjoying yourself; I saw the two of you kissing.” She set a hand on Castiel’s arm. “What transpired tonight was not your fault. He lied to you. He was going to take _advantage_ of you. Thank the heavens that Lady Bela recognized him when she did, or who knows what may have happened?” 

Castiel couldn’t say anything. It was as if his tongue had turned to stone. He looked again at the mask in his hands, at the rumpled peacock feathers. Had it truly only been just moments ago that Dean had been wearing it, that they’d been dancing, together, in this very room? 

Naomi gently lifted the mask from his hands. Castiel looked at her. 

“Let us put this night behind us.” She said, and turned to walk the few steps to the nearest fireplace, and Castiel watched as she threw Dean’s mask into the fire. 

He watched the flames devour the colorful feathers, blackening and curling as they shriveled up into wisps of nothing. Just as Dean would; after he was beheaded on the block tomorrow, they would mount his bloody head on a pike to be displayed at the town square, to be pecked at and eaten by birds and insects, the rest of his body burned until there was nothing left. A warning for all those who dared break the laws of Heaven.

Castiel’s stomach lurched, and he felt the burn of vomit in the back of his throat. 

Dean was going to die.

And it was his fault.

“I think I will retire.” He managed to get out around the bile. “I’m...feeling rather unsettled.” 

Naomi nodded. “Of course. I’ll make sure no one bothers you for the rest of the evening.” She smiled at him. “Rest well. The execution tomorrow is bound to draw quite a bit of excitement.” 

_Excitement_. 

People were going to gather to watch the death of a good man, and they were going to revel in it. They were going to be _excited_ about watching the spectacle, of Dean being held down as a sword was raised above him and—

“Goodnight,” Castiel said to his brother and sister, and hastily took his leave. 

He hurried out of the ballroom and into the hallways, but instead of heading towards his rooms, Castiel took a sharp right and headed for the gardens. He needed to get out of there, needed fresh air; the walls were beginning to close in on him, suffocating, his thundering heartbeat deafening in his ears—

He made it to the marbled path, and promptly emptied the contents of his stomach into the nearest bush. 

After, Castiel wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stumbled farther into the garden, his vision blurring and throat aching from the burn of vomit. He leaned against a pillar heavily, and grief exploded across his senses, pulling him under and robbing him of his breath, before finally pressing his back against it and sliding to the ground. 

He pulled the black feathered mask from his face, and Castiel finally allowed himself to cry. 

***

Castiel did not know how long he sat there, crying freely into the cool late summer night air. It couldn’t have been very long; the full moon had not moved from its resolute vigil above him in the sky, illuminating the entire garden in soft light, the white marble of the paths and statues and fountains gleaming like pearls. 

Castiel had cried until he had no tears left. The pain in his chest had numbed him to everything else, leaving him feeling empty as he stared into the stillness of the garden. 

Castiel knew exactly what was going to happen, and it haunted him.

Dean was going to die tomorrow. He was going to be beaten, spit on, dragged, and held down against the block, hands buckled in thick leather straps keeping him from attempting to escape as an executioner, hooded to preserve his honor, beheaded him. If Dean was lucky, and the executioner’s mark sure, it would be a quick and painless death. If the executioner botched the job, however, or the sword was not sharp enough…

Castiel had more tears after all, as it seemed. 

Dean didn’t deserve this. He was the best man Castiel had ever known, after Gabriel and Jimmy. He was kind and compassionate, with gentle hands that had always touched Castiel as if he were something precious, something fragile. He had never, not once, treated Castiel as though he were anything less than his equal, and Castiel had treasured that about him. To Dean, he was just Cas. Not a prince, but a man.

Yes, Dean was a thief, one of the most wanted bandits in the kingdom. But he never stole a cent for his own gain. He stole from the rich, who could afford it, to help those less fortunate in their midst, the lost souls that the aristocracy had forgotten, that Castiel’s own family had forgotten. He stole because people like Zachariah Adler, one of the kingdom’s chief tax collectors, robbed the poorest of Heaven’s citizens blind with high taxes and tariffs while the rich got away with paying hardly anything at all. Castiel was well aware that Zachariah pocketed some of the excess himself, keeping him well supplied with booze and women and influence. 

Even if Dean tried to tell them, tried to speak out for himself and his cause, Castiel knew that those he’d stolen from would hear none of it. The people he’d stolen from didn’t give a whit what Dean’s reasons were. They just wanted him to pay.

A sound like someone walking through brush, a snap of a twig underfoot, dragged Castiel bodily out of his melancholic stupor. He immediately jumped to his feet, whirling around, hand going automatically to the place where his blade usually resided at his hip, only to find it empty and replaced by the buttons of the black waistcoat he wore for the masque. 

“Who goes there?!” Castiel demanded. The gardens were off limits to the ball attendees, reserved solely for the royal family so as to not invite midnight trysts in Naomi’s prized rose bushes. 

A tall young man with long brown hair rounded the corner. He held up his hands in surrender, stance apprehensive, and Castiel’s shoulders slumped immediately when he realized he recognized him.

“Sam.” He said, relieved.

“Cas!” Sam hurried forward. 

“What are you doing here?!”

“I came with Dean, to make sure he’s alright.” Sam answered. He took in Castiel’s haggard form and Castiel saw the look that passed over his features when he got closer. He looked around, before finally settling on Castiel. “Cas, where’s Dean?”

Castiel choked back another sob, and shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

He watched as realization settled across Sam’s face, the abject horror in his eyes. He saw Sam swallow, taking in a shaky breath.

“Cas, where is my brother?”

“Likely in the most well guarded cell in Perdition prison.” Castiel answered. “Awaiting his execution tomorrow at noon.”

Sam gasped. 

“What happened?!”

“Someone at the ball recognized him.” Castiel explained. “And she exposed him.”

“Who was it?”

“Lady Bela Talbot.” 

Sam’s jaw ticked. “Bela.” He said, his voice hard. “Of course it was.”

“I’m sorry, Sam.” Castiel said. “There was nothing I could do. Dean told them he had snuck in to seduce me. He told them we didn’t know each other.” Castiel sighed. “He was giving me an out, so I wouldn’t have to go down with him.” 

“Just like Dean,” Sam said, shaking his head. “Self-sacrificing until the end.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said again.

“Cas,” Sam reached out and clasped his shoulder. “It’s not your fault. We’ve always known that, eventually, we’d be taken out.” He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. “Oh, G-d, what am I going to tell the others?”

Castiel didn’t know. How do you tell your friends, your _family,_ that one of your own was going to die? That he was never coming back? That they’d never see him again? 

Another stab of pain coursed through Castiel. 

_He_ would never see Dean again. 

The thought absolutely terrified him. 

“Listen, Sam,” he finally managed. “It’s not safe here. You need to leave, before they catch you, too.” 

Sam looked up at the palace walls, and Castiel could see the despair in his eyes. He knew Sam was struggling to bring himself to go, to leave his brother behind, to abandon him to a bloody death, even if they both knew that’s what Dean would have wanted. 

Castiel knew that pain, to lose a brother who had been by your side since birth. 

It was a pain that never left you. 

“Go, Sam,” Castiel said, urgently. “If someone sees you, you’re as good as dead, too. Go and tell the others.” 

Sam turned his face back to Castiel; his cheeks were wet. 

“If...if you can,” Sam said. “I dunno what you can do, but if you see Dean, tell him I love him, and I’ll be there tomorrow. That I’ll...I’ll see him through this.”

Castiel nodded, though he wasn’t sure he could carry through with making Sam a promise, so he didn’t say a word. 

“Be safe.” He said instead. “Please, my friend. Don’t make me lose you both.”

Sam huffed out a breath, the corner of his mouth twitching up, and he reached out an arm to pull Castiel into a hug by the shoulders. 

“I’m sorry, too, Cas.” He said softly. “I’m going to lose my brother, but you’re going to lose him, too. In a way I won’t.” 

“Thank you, Sam.” Castiel squeezed Sam’s shoulder. No matter the fact that he and Dean shared a much more profound bond, Castiel had always valued Sam’s friendship and camaraderie. 

Sam pulled away from him and gave him a teary, tight lipped, grim smile before he let him go. 

“I’ll see you soon, Sam.” Castiel vowed. “Please, be careful.” 

“I will.” Sam promised. He hoisted himself onto a low ledge of an ivy covered parapet, where it was easy to jump to the height of the outer wall surrounding the palace and back into the city below, where Castiel assumed their horses were waiting for them: Sam’s bay gelding, Ruby, and Dean’s beloved black friesian, Baby. He could hear Sam cooing to them quietly, and two sets of hoofbeats were heard running into the night.

Satisfied that Sam was safe, Castiel let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding since he’d seen his friend in the garden, and dropped onto a carved bench in an alcove. He buried his face in his hands and rubbed his stinging, sore eyes, clearing them of the crust of dried tears. 

_What was he going to do?_

The need to find Dean, to make sure he was alright, to touch him and see him, if only one last time, was overwhelming. Castiel knew that there was absolutely no chance for a jailbreak; Perdition was the most heavily guarded prison in all of Heaven, impregnable, sinister, and deadly. The keeper, Fergus Crowley, was known for the way he ran the place like a well oiled torture wheel; Crowley often boasted that it wasn’t called Hell for nothing. Castiel shuddered to think of the stories he’d heard of Crowley’s cruelty towards the prisoners; to him, dealing with criminals such as Dean was an art. 

Castiel jumped to his feet. Maybe he couldn’t save Dean; maybe he couldn’t raise him from Perdition, but he could still make sure that he was alright, that Castiel got the chance to say goodbye. He couldn’t bear the thought of allowing Dean to go to his death without hearing he loved him one last time.

Castiel knew he wouldn’t be missed; after all, he’d said he was retiring for the night, and Naomi was a queen of her word and would not allow anyone to disturb her youngest brother, who had just nearly been accosted by a thief in noble’s clothes. And, youngest prince or not, Castiel was still a prince of Heaven, and it would not be difficult for him to gain entry to the prison and make sure it was kept secret. 

Castiel, heart set steady with purpose, turned on his heel and marched out of the garden, setting his sights on the palace prisons. 

***

Just as he’d predicted, he’d been granted entry into Perdition without any fuss, and he’d sworn the guards that had allowed him in to secrecy with little effort. He walked through the halls of the prison, past row after row of cells, the stench of urine and excrement thick and heavy in the air. 

Castiel knew they’d be keeping Dean in a cell without bars; they’d be keeping him in the lower cells of the dungeon, rather than the prison proper. Castiel found the nearest staircase, and headed down. The stairs were slippery from a thin layer of algae growing on the perpetually wet stones from water that trickled down the mossy walls, the smell of damp earth and stagnant air growing stronger the farther he descended. 

_It’s like descending into a grave,_ Castiel thought, and a shiver passed down his spine.

He walked along the corridors, the heels of his boots tapping against the rough cobblestone, announcing his approach to any who may be listening. 

He found the cell relatively easily; the two guards stationed outside the thick wooden door was an easy clue. Castiel squared his shoulders and held his head high, channeling every ounce of royalty in his veins, and approached.

“You there,” he said, addressing the guards, who immediately stood to attention. “Is this where they are keeping the criminal Dean Winchester?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The guard to the left answered. 

“Open the door.” Castiel commanded.

The guards glanced at each other, clearly confused; they couldn’t refuse an order from a member of the royal family, but this man was a criminal marked for death. 

“Are you going to refuse a direct order from your prince?” Castiel growled, voice low and menacing, full of righteous fury, much like the angel he was named after. 

“Your Highness, this man is a criminal. He could be dangerous. Are you sure—”

“I assure you, I can handle him.” Castiel said. “Now, _open the damn door_.”

No further words were needed. One of the guards fumbled with a set of keys attached to a thick leather cord at his belt, and slipped the key into the lock. They yanked the door open, the rusty hinges screaming in protest.

“Thank you,” Castiel said. “No one is to come in or out unless I say so, and you will tell no one I was here, do you understand?” 

“Yes, Your Highness.” The guards said in unison. 

Castiel nodded to them both and entered the cell. 

The cell was dark, lit only by a single torch, and it reeked of mildew and rat feces. Chains and shackles hung from the walls and rafters, rusty and disused. In the corner was a pile of moldy hay, presumably to act as a bedding pallet, and a bucket sat in the corner. At the center of the room, a large steel eyelet was bolted into the sandy floor.

Dean’s hands were tied in front of him to the eyelet with thick leather strips, contorting his body to twist in such a way that he was forced to kneel forward if he had any hope of being even the tiniest bit comfortable, and Castiel could see that the knots were tied in such a way that the more Dean struggled, the tighter they got. Bruises the shape of knuckles were beginning to bloom alongside his face and his jaw, with dark dried blood trickling from his left nostril. They’d stripped him of his doublet and boots, leaving him in just his thin cotton shirt and breeches, and Castiel could see they’d fastened a cuff around his right ankle, in the event that he somehow managed to skip his bonds. He was gagged and blindfolded, face set in a tight grimace, his wrists raw from where Castiel could tell he’d been trying to escape, to no avail, his breathing sharp and alert upon hearing the door to his cell open. Castiel felt his heart drop at the sight, knowing that Dean likely thought him a guard, coming to rough him up again. With the position he was in, it would be impossible to fight back. 

Castiel hurried to Dean’s side, reaching out to grasp hold of Dean’s upper arm. Dean growled around the gag and tried to yank back away from his touch, grunting with exertion and pain as his bonds pulled tighter. 

“Dean!” He said, quietly. “Dean, it’s alright, it’s me.”

Immediately, Dean ceased struggling and tilted his head towards Castiel. He made a noise that sounded like Castiel’s nickname, and he shushed him. 

“Yes, Dean, it’s me. Hold on.” 

He reached out and slipped the blindfold from Dean’s eyes and gently tugged the gag from his mouth. Dean coughed, turning his head and spitting stale saliva onto the floor before turning his green eyes to Castiel.

“Cas,” he breathed. 

Castiel immediately set to work on the knots at Dean’s wrists. They were tight, too tight to untie by hand, but Castiel could see the broken skin around them and the purple bruising beginning to form, and he knew he couldn’t leave them like this. 

“Give me a moment.” He said. He got up and walked to the door, knocking loudly. A guard slid back the metal peep bar at the top of the door and looked through. Castiel made sure to position himself in front of Dean, so that the guard couldn’t see he was no longer gagged or blindfolded. 

“Give me a knife.” Castiel said firmly. He saw the guard smirk, as though the idea of their prince having a knife to wield against a prisoner unable to defend himself was amusing. Without hesitation, he passed his knife through the opening, hilt first. 

“Slice him once for me, Your Highness.” He said, and closed the chute. 

Castiel ignored the way the guard’s words caused anger to flare in his gut and immediately returned to Dean’s side, sawing at the leather strips with the serrated edge of the knife until they snapped. 

Within seconds Dean had Castiel in his arms, kissing him soundly. Castiel raised his hands to cradle Dean’s bruised face, and kissed back. Dean tasted of blood and the dirty cloth of the gag, but Castiel didn’t care. 

After a moment Dean pulled back to touch their foreheads together. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Cas?” He asked quietly. 

“Do you have to ask that question?” Castiel said. “I came to see you, make sure you’re alright.” 

“They roughed me up a bit, but I’m alright.” Dean assured him. “Cas, I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen.” 

“Hush.” Castiel said softly. “This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I should have made you leave the moment I saw you in that ballroom. I never should have indulged you in a dance, no matter how badly I wanted it.” 

“I wanted it, too.” Dean said. “I wanted it so badly. I want _you_ so badly.” 

“You have me.” Castiel told him. “You’ve had me. From the moment I met you, I’ve been yours.”

It was true. The moment he laid a hand on Dean, he was lost.

Dean gave a huffed laugh, and said, so softly, “I’m going to miss you.” 

“Dean.” Castiel felt the emotion rising within him again. “Don’t talk like that.” 

“Cas, I’m dying tomorrow. And shit, I don’t know what’s waiting for me on the other side, but whatever it is, wherever I’m going, heaven or hell, I’m going to miss you.” Dean spoke frankly, eyes boring into Castiel’s. “Fuck, I’m so glad I met you. I’m so glad I bought you that drink at the pub. I’m so glad I got to love you.”

“Dean,” Castiel choked. “Please.”

“I want you to know,” Dean continued, ignoring Castiel’s silent plea. “That I don’t regret any of it. I wouldn’t take a single moment back.” He kissed Castiel again, a desperate edge to it, as if he were trying to memorize everything about it. “Fuck, Cas, I just wish I had more time.” 

“I know.” Castiel said. “I do, too.” 

They sat in silence for a moment, simply holding one another. Castiel didn’t realize he was crying until Dean’s thumbs wiped beneath his eyes, catching them. 

“What am I going to do without you?” Castiel asked, finally breaking the silence. He felt his heart beating soundly, breaking a little more with each press against his ribcage. 

Dean’s smile was small and sad. 

“You’ll forget all about me, in time. You’ll move on, find some lord or lady to marry, have a bunch of kids. Find someone who can give you everything a thief can’t, everything you deserve.”

“Never.” Castiel swore. “I couldn’t forget you if I tried. Don’t you dare ask me to.” 

“Just be happy, Cas.” Dean said. “I need you to do that, for me.”

He wanted to scream, _How can I be happy without you?_ **_You_ ** _make me happy. You’re the only goddamn thing that’s made me happy since my brother died. Please don’t leave me like he did. I can’t live through that kind of pain again._

Castiel shook his head. “I can’t promise that.”

“Then promise me one thing.” Dean looked at him seriously. “Take care of Sam and the others for me. Please, Cas, take care of my brother. Make sure this doesn’t happen to him. Get him outta the kingdom, away from here. Please, just make sure he and the others are okay. That’s all I ask.”

Castiel nodded. 

“I saw Sam in the gardens. He escaped over the palace wall.” He told him. “I told him what happened in the ballroom. He asked me to tell you he will be...he’ll be there tomorrow. So you don’t go alone.”

Dean made a heartbreaking sound in the back of his throat as he nodded and looked away from Castiel, sniffing and wiping a hand over his face. He shuddered. 

“Dean?” Castiel reached out and took his hand. 

Dean turned to look at him, and Castiel noticed how his breathing had gone ragged. His green eyes were wide, and Castiel knew him well enough to know he was terrified. 

“I don’t wanna die, Cas.” His voice broke on Castiel’s name. He was trembling.

Castiel felt something inside him shatter. The pain was agonizing, splintering through his very soul, irreparable and final. 

“I know.” Castiel said through the lump in his throat. 

“I know it’s stupid to say it now, but I don’t...I don’t wanna die. Fuck, Cas, I’m...I’m scared, man.” Dean crumpled against Cas’s chest, gripping the fabric of his waistcoat tightly. “And I know that makes me weak, but I don’t care.”

“It doesn’t make you weak to fear death, Dean.” Cas said gently, stroking his fingers through Dean’s hair. “It makes you human.”

He could feel Dean trembling against him, fingers pressing into Castiel’s back. 

“Will it hurt?” Dean asked, voice small, and Castiel knew it took a lot out of him for him to ask. That given any other circumstances, with any other person, he would never allow himself to sound so frightened.

“No.” Castiel said thickly. “It will be quick.”

“Guess I should be grateful it’s the block and not the noose, then, huh?” Dean said. 

“There are...worse ways to die, I suppose.” Castiel said, struck by how casually he’d said it, as if he and Dean were having a drink around the fire. It made him feel sick all over again, thinking about how Dean felt _lucky_ that he would be beheaded rather than hanged. That he felt lucky to have been granted one death over another.

Any death involving Dean was unbearable to think about.

“Cas,” Dean said. 

“Yes, Dean?”

Dean was quiet for a moment, as if deciding whether or not he should speak. “Will you be there?”

Castiel swallowed around the grief that flooded through him at the question. 

“Yes, Dean.” He said. “I will be with you. I will not let you die alone.”

No matter how much it killed him to watch the man he loved be murdered in front of his eyes, Castiel would never dream of letting him die such a death alone. 

“I love you.” Dean looked up at him. “I love you so goddamn much, Cas.”

“I know.” Castiel kissed his forehead, and felt how his lips trembled against the skin there. He was just barely holding it together, trying to stay strong for Dean. “I love you, too.”

He knew their time was growing short. The guards would be wondering what was taking so long, and why they weren’t hearing the sounds of Castiel torturing who everyone believed to be the man that had nearly taken advantage of him. But he couldn’t bear to leave, not yet. Castiel was selfish; he wanted every last moment he could get with Dean. 

“You should get outta here.” Dean said, as if hearing his thoughts. “Wouldn’t want you to get caught in here with me.” 

“In a moment.” Castiel said. “Come here.”

He got up, slowly helping Dean to his feet, the chain around the bandit’s ankle rattling as he did so. He led him to the back wall of the cell, and gently lowered them down, his back against the wall. He maneuvered Dean to lay his head in his lap, as he’d done so many times during their nights together. Dean went willingly, curling into a ball with his back facing the cell door, burying his face in Castiel’s belly, still clutching Castiel’s shirt in his first, keeping him close. 

“Rest, Dean,” Castiel said gently. “I’ll watch over you.” 

“Can’t.” Dean said. “Wanna remember this.”

Castiel shushed him, carding his fingers through Dean’s sandy brown hair, offering what little comfort he could. 

“Love you.” Dean said. 

“I love you, too, Dean.” Castiel said, knowing deep in his heart, this would be the last time he said it. “I’ll always love you.”

It wasn’t long before Dean fell asleep, hand clutching Castiel’s waistcoat slackening, his breathing deep and rhythmic,expression peaceful. Castiel stayed with him as long as he dared, stroking his head and trying to memorize every plane of the bandit’s face. 

It didn’t seem fair, that Castiel could grow to adore someone this much, only to have him stolen from him so violently. He loved Dean so fiercely, the mere thought of being without him was tearing him apart.

He thought of Jimmy, and what he’d say, if he were here. Castiel desperately wished he could seek his counsel. 

Losing Jimmy had been like losing a part of himself. Jimmy had been his best friend, his confidant, his rock. Losing him had been the hardest thing to ever happen to him. There had been times when Castiel had been sure he wouldn’t be able to go on without his twin at his side, when even looking in the mirror was a bitter reminder of just what he’d lost. 

But losing Dean? Was a completely different kind of loss, a deeper, robust ache that permeated every nerve in his body. 

Losing a brother, even a twin, did not and could not compare to losing the one person who was undoubtedly the love of his life. 

He could almost hear Jimmy saying it. 

Fresh tears sprang to his eyes, and he choked on them as he bent over Dean, the salty drops falling onto Dean’s hair. 

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t leave Dean like this, knowing that come morning, he would once again be bound and gagged, possibly even punished for somehow managing to slip his bonds, even if it had been Castiel who had freed him of them, and then, come the high hour, he would be executed. He couldn’t bear to think of leaving him to face his death without Castiel there beside him, to hold his hand as he slipped away, as Castiel had often fantasized of doing when they were old and gray, having lived a full life together. 

But he knew he couldn’t stay. He would have to go, leave Dean behind. It would be bad, for both of them, if they were caught this way. 

Swallowing against the pain in his chest, Castiel dropped a kiss to Dean’s temple and gently, oh so gently, extracted himself from the bandit. 

Dean groaned quietly, and Castiel gently lowered his head down onto the floor. He soothed him instantly with a touch, knowing that he would not find the strength to leave him should Dean awaken. If he was going to leave, it would have to be now.

“I love you.” He whispered. “ _Always._ ”

Garnishing every last bit of courage he had, Castiel rose to his feet, picked up the guard’s knife, and walked to the door, knocking against the wood.

The chute at the top for the door slid open. 

“I am ready to exit.” Castiel said, and without hesitation, the door was opened for him. Castiel soared one final glance at Dean’s sleeping form before he walked out the door. 

Castiel handed the guard his knife back.

“No harm is to befall this man in the time between now and his execution, is that clear?” He said sternly, voice bordering on cold. “He has been freed of his bonds and he is to be allowed to rest until he is to be taken to the block. You are _not_ to tell a single soul of my being here. and if you do, I will personally see to it that you never see the light of day again. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The guards agreed, both dropping onto one knee before him. 

Castiel nodded. “Good. And, if you see Master Crowley, you are to inform him that I have a royal command that this man be treated with dignity and respect until the time of his demise draws near, and if my orders are disobeyed, I will see to it that he receives the worst treatments Perdition has to offer for himself.”

Having made himself clear, he strode away, heading back towards the staircase that would take him back to the main floor and out of Perdition. 

He only wished that he could take Dean with him.

***

Castiel did not sleep. 

After leaving Dean in Perdition, he’d retired back to his rooms, where he’d locked the doors and once again allowed himself to grieve in solitude. In a fit of anger, he’d upended his writing table, sending quills and stacks of parchment flying across the floor, the inkwell shattering, the dark blue ink slowly spreading across the polished floors of his chambers like blood. He’d quickly stripped himself of his waistcoat and boots, and had thrown himself down on his bed, head in his hands, for hours, with only the sounds of his own cries and the chiming of the large grandfather clock in the corner to keep him company. 

When the sun crested the horizon, breaking through clouds that promised a day of rain, bathing Castiel’s chambers in gold through the window, Castiel was interrupted in his solid tide by a maid quietly slipping into the room. She smiled at him politely and kept her eyes downcast as she busied herself with stoking the smoldering embers of the fireplace. She filled the pitcher of water in the corner with fresh cold water and a new clean towel before taking her leave. Some time later, she returned, this time with a tray of soft cheeses, fruits, and breads for Castiel’s breakfast, along with a steaming cup of his favorite tea. Even just the thought of eating made Castiel feel ill, so he ignored it.

The clock chimed, proclaiming loudly that it was ten o’clock.

Dean would die in two hours. 

Castiel slowly rose to his feet and made his way to the vanity in the corner, where he poured the water from the pitcher into the ceramic basin and bent over it, splashing the cold water on his face, stiff and crusted with dried tear tracks. 

He blindly groped for the towel, and brought it to his face to blot it dry. He gazed at himself in the small mirror, at his pale face and dark circles beneath his red rimmed, puffy eyes. 

For a split second, Castiel saw Jimmy staring back at him. Even with age, he and his brother had been identical in all but the timbre of their voices, with Jimmy’s being a full octave higher than Castiel’s low growl. There had been times, in the years since Jimmy’s death, when his reflection had seemed like a curse, but now, it was a reminder.

And suddenly, he realized that it was not a reminder of what he had lost, of what he could not change, but a reminder of his own power, his own resilience, of what he _could_ change.

It was as if Jimmy were speaking to him, calling to him from behind the silvered glass, asking him what the fuck he was doing feeling sorry for himself, when he could be fighting for the man he loved. 

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Cas,” his brother had once said. “But I have faith in you.”

Castiel closed his eyes, and sent a prayer of thanks to the heavens, hoping that even if his brother couldn’t hear it, an angel would deliver it to him. 

He spun on his heels and strode to the wardrobe in the corner. He grabbed his wool cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders, pulling on his boots and pacing them tightly before he took up his sword in its scabbard where it rested by the door. 

He made his way out into the hallway and down the stairs. As he did, he ran into Hannah, Gabriel’s chief lieutenant and one of Castiel’s friends since childhood. Hannah was one of the only people who knew of his feelings for Dean, having caught Castiel sneaking back into the palace late one evening while she’d been on patrol. 

“Castiel!” She said in greeting, raising her fist to her heart in the greeting they’d had since they were kids. “Where are you going? Naomi just sent me to fetch you. She and Gabriel are preparing to head to the town square for the execution in about an hour.” She reached out and squeezed his arm. “I’m so sorry about Dean, Castiel. I wish there were something I could do.”

“Thank you, Hannah.” He said. “Please tell Naomi that I have urgent business to attend to in town, but assure her that I will see her at the execution.” Castiel said. 

“Of course.” Hannah promised. She looked confused at how easily he spoke of Dean’s impending demise, but he didn’t have time to explain. “I will see you there.” 

Castiel nodded, and started on his way again. He made his way out into the palace yard, and headed for one of the service entrances, exiting into the streets of the city. He pulled his hood onto his head as rain began to fall, and meandered his way towards the town square, where several guards had begun to prepare the daises, covering the one where the beheading would take place with sawdust and straw to soak up the blood, and arranged chairs on the other where the royal family was to sit to take witness to the event. As he watched, a large, heavy rectangular slab of stone was carried to the center by three men; a deep half moon shaped groove was carved out on the side facing the square, and thick, strong leather cuffs had been hammered into either side of the stone, the nails soldered to ensure strength. 

This was the block.

A guard brought forth a large melon and sat it on the block, and held it in place to make sure it would stay steady and not roll off before he stepped back and picked up the sword another guard handed him. He raised it, and plunged it downward, severing the melon in half with a single stroke. 

Castiel gulped thickly at the display, knowing exactly what it meant. 

“This’ll do the trick.” The guard said, kicking one of the halves of melons away as he cleaned the blade of the knife. “Sorry to say it won’t be much of a show, but at least it’s sure to kill Winchester right and proper.”

“Too bad.” Another guard said. “I always did like a show. It’s much more entertaining when they struggle and the blade misses.”

Castiel’s fists clenched, and he ground his teeth. 

They were right; it would kill Dean, but only if the plan Castiel was formulating didn’t work.

It was a harebrained plan borne of desperation and love, relying completely on timing and chance, and it had the makings of being more a disaster than a success, but it would have to be enough. 

***

By a quarter hour to noon, the square had packed completely full. Executions of criminals had always been a sort of spectator sport, drawing people in droves to come and witness the event. Refreshments were sold and consumed, children ran about and played games, splashing in puddles while their parents gossiped about who it was they’d be watching die. Some even placed bets with one another, on things such as whether the severed head would roll to the left or the right after decapitation, or whether the executioner would get it in one blow. 

Castiel watched as his sister and brother ascended the raised dais and seated themselves, Naomi leaning over to whisper something in Gabriel’s ear, probably about the fact that Castiel was not waiting for them, as Hannah’s message would have suggested. He knew they were wondering where he was; surely he would want to witness the death of the man who had sought to sully his good name at the masque the night before? 

He was grateful that the rain called for everyone in attendance to wear cloaks to keep themselves dry; this allowed him to not look out of place, and to better conceal his identity and hide the sword at his hip from view. After having spent several moments taking up different vantage points whilst the guards were too busy with their preparations to take too much notice, Castiel had positioned himself nearest the left side of the dais. Ahead of him, across the platform, he could see the line of trees behind where his siblings were seated. He could see several figures emerge from the path out of the woods and walk towards the open square, and even before they got closer, Castiel recognized Sam’s cloaked figure, and Charlie’s flaming red hair.

He watched their pilgrimage into town until they all came to stand closely together at the edge of the crowd. Bobby had his arm around Ellen’s shoulder, Ellen looking completely stone faced and like she was barely keeping it together as she gazed upon the platform where her adopted son would lose his life. Jody and Donna each held the small hands of their girls, Claire and Alex, and Castiel could see that Donna was wiping away tears. Kevin and Jo leaned silently against one another, taking comfort in the other’s presence, while Charlie, Eileen, and Sam came up the rear, making it easy for Sam to make a clear getaway, should he be spotted and recognized. Castiel felt a pang of guilt, of something akin to shame as he watched them; he should be with them, offering them comfort, explaining what it was he was about to attempt. But he didn’t; moving would compromise the position he’d carefully mapped out and claimed in the crowd, and Castiel could not afford to take the chance of being unable to reach the dais in time should he move. Instead, he watched the friends he had come to consider family as they huddled together in the cold rain as they waited for their friend, comrade, leader, son, and brother to be brought forth to meet his death.

They didn’t have to wait long. Everything fell silent as the clocktower bell rang out through the din, proclaiming that the noon hour had fallen. The crowd parted as a group of soldiers came forward, two at the front and four behind, with Dean held between the middle two. His bruised face was expressionless, his body loose with defeat, not even attempting to put up a fight as he was led forward, bare feet stumbling against the wet, uneven cobblestones of the square. He nearly fell once, and the guards were not gentle as they hauled him back up and pushed him forward, holding onto him tightly. 

Castiel felt the grief return full stop in his chest as he watched as Dean allowed himself to be led through the crowd, eyes trained on the ground in front of him. It hurt, to see Dean, usually so proud and strong, so defeated. He trampled it down, reminding himself that he needed to focus, that allowing himself to grieve now would only dull the senses he was going to need to pull this off. 

He turned his eyes away from Dean back towards the others, and he saw Charlie take a step towards Dean after he’d been passed by them, as if to follow. Sam reached out and grabbed her, yanking her back; he pulled her to him and held her against him as she buried her face in his chest and wept, his mouth against her hair as he kept his eyes trained on their brother’s back as he ascended the steps of the dais. 

The men holding Dean stopped him a few paces behind the block, so that he faced the crowd. Castiel saw him lift his head slowly to look, glassy eyed and trepidous, at the block. He saw his throat bob as he swallowed, hard, and he set his jaw, unwilling to allow anyone here know he was scared. He watched as Dean turned his gaze towards the crowd beyond the block, surveying the hooded faces until he caught sight of his family. Castiel saw him give a short, almost unnoticeable, nod towards them, and Sam gave a nod back, still holding tightly to Charlie.

Dean then slowly turned his head to look towards the dais to his right at Naomi and Gabriel, and Castiel saw the moment he realized he was not with them pass over Dean like a wave. His shoulders slumped and he turned his head back to the block, his chin trembling slightly, eyes haunted and unfocused. 

It broke Castiel’s heart to know that Dean likely thought that Castiel had broken his promise to see him through his death, and had abandoned him in his final moments. 

He vowed to make it up to him when this was all over. 

Hannah stepped forward and produced a scroll from her sleeve, unfurling it. 

“We are here to witness the execution of Dean Winchester, a thief and bandit who has terrorized our kingdom for the last six years. He has been sentenced to death by beheading, after which his head will be displayed in the town square and his body burned, thereby cleansing the earth of him and his crimes. He has waived his rights to any religious last rites he was entitled to per our kingdom’s laws. Thieves, murderers, and bandits forfeit their right to last words per our kingdom law upon conviction of their crimes.” 

She rolled up the parchment and slipped it back into her sleeve. She stepped back and nodded to the two guards holding onto Dean’s arms. One guard, who Castiel recognized as Gadreel, cut the rope binding Dean’s wrists together and the two of them led him forward. Gadreel delivered a swift kick to the back of Dean’s legs, and he fell, hard, onto his knees. The other guard grasped Dean by the hair and pushed his head down against the block and held him there while Gadreel strapped Dean’s wrists into the leather cuffs on either side of the block, tightening them with quick, hard jerks, and Castiel saw Dean wince as the cuffs rubbed against the raw and bruised skin. 

Once Gadreel was satisfied that Dean could not escape from the cuffs, and had no means of jerking up and away from the block itself, he and the other guard stepped back and nodded to Hannah, who had turned to face her commander, Gabriel. 

“Proceed,” Gabriel instructed. 

Another guard, hooded to protect his identity, came forward and brandished the sharp execution sword Castiel had seen them experimenting with earlier. 

Dead silence fell across the crowd as the guard stepped forward and raised the sword high into the air. 

Dean closed his eyes tightly, and awaited the end. 

Everything from that point on seemed to slow down, as if time were wading through water. Castiel, unsheathing the sword at his hip, jumped up onto the dais and rushed forward, towards the executioner. He was aware of nothing around him; even the sounds of gasps from the crowd were lost to him as he set his sights on Dean, and the sword above him. 

If he was even a second too late…

He wasn’t. 

Castiel thrust his sword into the space between the back of Dean’s neck and the executioner’s sword at the very last second, the metal colliding loudly. 

As soon as his sword caught, Castiel used all of his strength to carry the force of the parry upwards, and he raised a foot to kick the executioner squarely in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards and away from the block.

In his rush to get to Dean, Castiel’s hood had fallen back, revealing his identity to everyone in the crowd. 

“ _STOP!_ ” He shouted. 

“Hold!” Gabriel commanded harshly, stopping the guards that were rushing forward in their tracks. 

For a moment, there wasn’t a sound to be heard save for Castiel’s own harsh breathing. He glanced down at Dean who had turned his gaze upwards towards Castiel, a look of pure terror in his green eyes. 

“Castiel!” Naomi demanded, and she gathered her skirts to walk down the steps of the raised dais towards where Castiel stood protectively over Dean. “What is the meaning of this?!”

“I won’t let you kill him.” Castiel told her. “You’ll have to go through me first.”

“Castiel, don’t be ridiculous!” Naomi admonished. “You can’t be serious, protecting this felon?!”

“He is far from a felon,” Castiel said. “He’s a good man. A good man who doesn’t deserve to die.”

“He’s a lying, treasonous _thief_ , Castiel!” Naomi reasoned. “A worthless ingrate who steals from hard working citizens to further his own means! He is not worth your protection!”

“You’re wrong!” Castiel countered. “He never steals for himself! Neither he nor his brother! They steal from those who can afford it, and give it to those who _need_ it, Naomi. He’s the best man I’ve ever met, and I _will not let you kill him!_ ”

“How would you know? You only just met the man last night!” Naomi countered. 

“He lied.” Castiel said. “He lied to protect me. I knew who he was when I danced with him at the masque. I’ve known him for eight months.”

“Eight _months?!_ ” Naomi said, incredulous. “You knew where he was for eight months and you never told me?! How could you aid and abet the most wanted criminal in the lands, Castiel? Don’t you understand that that could be seen as treason?!”

“I couldn’t.” Castiel reasoned. “I couldn’t let you find him, Naomi. Just as I can’t let you kill him now.”

“Castiel, this is preposterous. Stand aside.” Naomi commanded. 

“No.” Castiel moved minutely closer to Dean. “Kill him and you kill me with him.”

“I am not going to execute you, Castiel!” Naomi said, and he could hear the anger in her voice. “Now stand aside!”

“No!” A new voice rang out through the air, and Castiel turned to see the tall frame of Sam climbing the dais, followed closely by Eileen, Jo, Kevin, and Charlie. Bobby and Ellen had pushed forward to stand at the base of the dais, while Donna and Jody hung back, Alex and Claire shielded in the folds of their skirts to keep them from witnessing the scene. 

Sam rushed forward and stood next to Castiel, dropping his hood; everyone gasped as they realized who he was.

“My name is Sam Winchester, his brother. I offer myself in his place in exchange for his freedom.”

“Sam, no!” Dean said, fiercely. “Don’t you dare!”

Castiel, too, felt a growing panic deep in his gut. Sam had to know that Dean would never allow him to take his place, that he’d die a thousand deaths to protect his baby brother. And yet, Castiel also understood it from Sam’s perspective; had he been given the chance to go back in time and trade his own life for Jimmy’s, he had done it without a moment’s hesitation. He understood what that kind of love felt like. 

Sam ignored Dean’s outburst. 

“Please,” he said, breathless. “Don’t do this. Let me take his place.” 

Naomi, for the first time in her life, appeared to be speechless. Here she was, being handed the two most wanted bandits in the kingdom on a silver platter, and the only thing standing between her and them was Castiel, her little brother, the prince.

“Sam,” Dean warned. “Don’t.”

“No offense, Dean,” Sam said. “But you aren’t exactly in a position to argue right now.”

Dean growled in frustration.

“Take me, too.” Charlie stepped forward to stand beside Sam. “Dean’s my brother, too.”

“And me.” Said Jo. “I’ll go, too.”

“Might as well take me, too.” Kevin stepped forward.

Eileen slipped her hand in Sam’s, and pressed close against him, using her free hand to sign what Castiel recognized as “ _me, too.”_

Bobby helped hoist Ellen onto the platform before hauling himself up, and they, too, joined the others. 

“Dean may as well be my own son.” Ellen said, pride radiating from the truth of her words. “You want him, you better go through me.” Bobby nodded his silent agreement. 

Jody and Donna, each carrying one of the girls, also came to stand on the platform.

Love and appreciation for these incredible people swelled in Castiel’s chest, and he dropped his sword onto the sawdust. 

“I, too, offer myself in his place.” Castiel said. 

Naomi stood, eyes wide and mouth open in shock as she took in the amass of people on the dais, standing in front of Dean, protectively. A wall of people stood between her and the thief that had been a thorn in her side for six years; a wall of love and loyalty, ready to fight and defend until the very end, if it came to that. And it was led by her brother. 

Castiel could see the question swirling in her eyes. _Why_ had Castiel done this? What had driven him to revolt against her in such a way? What was it about this thief, this penniless commoner, that made him worth dying for? 

He was unsurprised when she voiced it.

“Why are you doing this, Castiel?” She asked, quietly. “I know that I have left...that I have not always been the best sister to you. But I cannot imagine why you would rebel in such a way as _this.”_ She gestured to the people on the dais, at Dean, still kneeling with his head on the block. 

“Because they’re family, Naomi.” Castiel explained. “They’re _my_ family, just as much as you and Gabriel. I love them all. Some…” He dared a glance down at Dean, who stared up at him, green eyes wide. “In more profound ways than others.” 

Castiel knew that Naomi was still processing it all. He could see the conflicted feelings as they passed over her face. She kept looking between the faces before her, but her gaze lingered on Castiel and Dean. 

“Naomi,” Gabriel said. “Just let him go.” 

“Gabriel, you know I can’t—”

“Sure you can!” Gabriel interjected. “You’re the Queen, Naomi, you can do whatever the hell you damn well please when it comes to these kinds of matters. You can declare that Dean Winchester has paid for his crimes, and under due process of the law and with your rights as Queen, you’ve pardoned him.”

Naomi glared. “Are you suggesting I allow this display of insubordination to stand?” 

“I’m suggesting more than that.” Gabriel said. “I’m suggesting that you don’t have any other choice, unless you plan to execute every single person on this platform today, including our own brother.”

The majority of this group were innocent, and Castiel knew that Naomi knew it, knew that she could see that what they had done, what Castiel had done, had not been an act of defiance. That they were not treasonous traitors intent on creating a coup, but were instead a family, desperate to save one of their own.

“Naomi, Cassie loves him.” Gabriel said. “I know you see it. Remember how happy he looked last night at the masque? When was the last time you saw him that happy?”

“When James was alive.” Naomi answered. 

“Exactly. Listen to what Castiel has to say. Spare Dean Winchester today, spare his brother, and give them the chance at a fair trial, the chance to plead their case. Castiel wouldn’t lie to you, he wouldn’t do this unless he had a damn good reason, and you know it. If this is something he believes is right,” Gabriel moved then, to stand next to Castiel, who watched him in surprise; here was his brother, _Captain of the Guard,_ coming to stand at his side. “Then I trust him.” 

The crowd, which had been thus far silent in their witness of the spectacle unfolding before them, were whispering. Castiel knew without looking that a great many of them were peasants, poor people that Dean and Sam had helped, but he could also feel the glaring eyes of some of the upper classes who had also gathered to watch as the man who had wronged them was brought to justice, could feel the disdain like a burn on his skin. 

He didn’t care. This was what was right.

Dean deserved to be saved.

Naomi watched all of them, regarding them with a calculating, cool gaze. She looked at each of their faces in turn, before settling on Castiel. 

“You must truly love this man, to defy me in such a way.” She said, finally. 

“I do.” Castiel nodded.

“Then I have but one choice.” She said. She turned to the crowd and proclaimed, “Dean Winchester is saved.” She turned and gestured to Dean. “Release him. He is free to go.”

Castiel didn’t need to be told twice. As a cry of joy went out through the square, and the group gathered let out a collective sigh, Castiel crouched in front of the block, where Dean looked back at him, green eyes impossibly wide and wondrous. Castiel’s hands fumbled, shaking with a half day’s worth of nerves and grief and adrenaline, as he set at loosening the leather cuffs on Dean’s wrists until they were both free. 

Castiel reached out and slowly helped Dean to his feet, his eyes never leaving Dean’s. Dean had yet to say a word, but he didn’t have to; Castiel saw it all in those eyes. 

Dean stumbled forward, eyes still trained on Castiel, and grabbed him by the face, kissing him like a man drowning, and Castiel was the very air he needed to breathe. Castiel gave himself over to it, tears of relief stinging at the corners of his eyes, and kissed him back as more cheers erupted around them. 

After a long moment, Dean pulled back and pressed his forehead against Castiel’s, letting out a shuddering breath before he dared a half smile.

“Have I ever told you,” he said. “That you’re one crazy son of a bitch?”

Castiel laughed.

“Once or twice.”

“I love you, you fucking lunatic.” Dean said. “Jesus, Cas, I can’t believe you just…”

“You’d have done the same for me.” Castiel said. He smiled at him, taking in Dean’s form. Dean’s eyes scanned his face, dropping down to his lips again, and Castiel unconsciously stepped closer. 

“Save some for the rest of us, Cas,” the voice of Charlie said, brusquely, and Castiel stepped away from Dean. “You guys can have eye sex later.”

Dean laughed and swept his sister into a huge hug, nearly crushing the air out of her. Jo was next, followed closely by Ellen, who grabbed her adopted son and immediately peppered his face with kisses. 

“Goddammit, boy,” she could be heard saying between them. “You ever scare us like that again and I’ll hang your ass on my wall, you got it?”

“Yes ma’am.” Dean said and buried his face in her shoulder for a moment before letting her go. 

Sam was next, and Dean turned to greet his brother warmly, grabbing him into a hug. Sam clung to his brother, clearly affected by just how close he’d come to losing him.

“Can’t get rid of me that easy, Sammy,” he joked as he pulled away. Sam sniffed and punched his brother’s arm.

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

At that moment, Naomi approached. The group fell silent as she did so, Castiel taking hold of Dean’s hand.

“I would like to speak with you both sometime very soon.” She said to the brothers. “If what Castiel says is true and you have both been providing some sort of vigilante income services to the poor of Heaven, I would like to know the circumstances that led you to take up such a profession in the first place. However,” she looked at Castiel. “I can see that you are both tired, so we will postpone our meeting until you’ve had the chance to get some rest.”

Sam nodded, diplomatically. “We look forward to meeting with you, Your Majesty. Thank you.”

Naomi gave them a short nod, and turned to walk down the steps of the dais back towards the palace. 

Sam gave Dean a firm slap on the back and said, “We’re headed back to the village. Go get some sleep. You look like death.”

Dean glared at his brother. “Gallows humor? After I nearly literally died, Sam? Really?”

Sam laughed and walked away. Dean looked at Eileen and signed, _Smother him with a pillow for me._

Eileen laughed and signed back, _I like him too much. He’s good at chess. And in bed._ She winked and walked away, catching up with Sam easily. 

Castiel stood aside and waited as the rest of Dean’s family got the chance to hug him, and tell him how glad they were he was alright. Donna kissed him squarely on the cheek.

“You try and die again and I’ll kick your ass.” She said, sweetly. 

“Yeah, and I’ll hold you while she does it, too.” Jody chimed in. 

“If you can beat Ellen to it, I’ll let you.” Dean said, depositing a sleepy Alex in Jody’s arms. He ruffled Claire’s fine blonde hair, and she squawked in protest, glaring at Dean and smacking his hand away. Dean laughed. “Feisty, just like your moms. Never change, kiddo.”

After, Castiel took Dean by the hand and led him off of the dais and back towards the palace, leaving the block behind them without a single glance. Castiel marveled in the weight of Dean’s hand in his, the way his palm pressed against his; even just a few hours ago, he’d been absolutely despondent at the idea of never having this again; now, he was never going to let him go. 

As they walked through the palace gates and climbed the stairs that would take them up to Castiel’s rooms, they passed by a large glass window overseeing the palace lawn below. The sun was well past the point of shining through this particular window, which faced east, allowing the window to flash Castiel’s reflection back at him when he glanced at it. 

Castiel’s face, Jimmy’s face, looked back at him, and Castiel thought that he had never looked happier, despite the weariness that lurked in his eyes. Whenever Jimmy was in the afterlife, Castiel hoped he was proud of him.

He led Dean into his bed chambers, and closed the door behind them, setting the latch to lock it. Dean surveyed the room, nodding approvingly. 

“Nice digs.” He appraised. 

“Thank you.” Castiel said. “Come here.” 

Dean obeyed, sliding up into Castiel’s space effortlessly. Castiel kissed him, slowly, reverently, relishing the way Dean leaned into it, moaning quietly as Castiel began to pluck at his white undershirt. 

“Cas,” Dean said against his lips. “Not that I don’t want to, but I’m way too tired to do anything right now. I didn’t sleep much after you left last night. I’m lucky I’m even standing right now.”

“I didn’t sleep at all.” Castiel confessed. “And I wasn’t trying to insinuate anything.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean asked. “Then why else would you want me out of my shirt?”

“Well, it reeks of Perdition, for one.” Castiel said, frankly. He laughed as Dean sniffed at his own shoulder and made a face. “But also because I’m going to draw you a bath before we lay down to rest.”

“That sounds awesome.” Dean said. “A massage included in that?”

Castiel hummed. “That can be arranged, later.” He said. “Though, most of my plans for later involve life affirming sex in my bed.”

“ _Hell_ yes.” Dean agreed, enthusiastically. 

“But for now, bath, then bed.” Castiel said. 

“You save my life, give me a bath, promise me a massage _and_ to fuck me into the mattress? Gotta be careful, Cas. A guy like me could get used to that kind of treatment.”

“Good.” Castiel kissed him again. “It’s no less than you deserve.”

“I must have done something really good to deserve you.” Dean said softly. “I don’t know how I’m ever gonna be able to be worthy of it, but I’m grateful.”

He let Castiel lead him into the room adjacent his bedchamber, into the steaming baths. Castiel took his time undressing him, pressing kisses to as much bare skin as he dared, before he eased Dean’s sore and bruised body into the warm water, anointing him with soap and scented oils and rubbing it into his skin before he washed his hair, Dean moaning appreciatively at the feeling of his fingers against his scalp.

Later, after Dean had return the favor and the two of them had emerged, pink skinned and warm, from the baths, Castiel had led Dean back to his chambers, and the two of them had slid, naked and still slightly damp, under the warm sheets, facing one another with their legs tangled together. 

“I keep wondering if I really did die.” Dean said softly. “And that this might actually be heaven. That maybe I did something good enough to deserve it.” 

“You aren’t dead, and despite the fact that both kingdoms share a name, this is not heaven.” Castiel assured him. “Though there isn’t a doubt in my mind that it is where you will go, someday.”

Dean hummed, and sleepily traced his fingertips across Castiel’s brow. 

“Nah, I don’t think so.” He said.

“Why not?”

“Because,” Dean said. “I don’t think heaven can be any better than this, right here.” 

Castiel smiled at him, love and adoration singing in his blood, right down into his very soul. He tangled his fingers with Dean’s. Dean smiled back at him, sleepily, his eyes fluttering. 

“Sleep, Dean.” Castiel commanded gently.

“Can’t.” Dean yawned. “Wanna remember this.”

Castiel squeezed his hand. 

“There are more memories to be made, after we’ve slept.” He said. “So sleep.”

Dean, unable to fight against the exhaustion that pulled at him, safe and warm against Castiel, did as he was told, and was asleep in moments.

Castiel closed his eyes and shuffled closer to his bandit. He fell asleep to the steady feeling of Dean’s breath against his chest, and the beat of Dean’s heart beneath his palm. 

  
  
-fin-  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [Dean's Mask](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/35/df/e0/35dfe0a9ee65124ac55dfafa1db2ffc7.jpg)
> 
> [Cas's Mask](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/6c/52/4d/6c524da9d32f63043c4bc15a7516eec0--masquerade-party-masquerade-masks.jpg)


End file.
